


All Yours

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [116]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Birthday Cake, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Gaius (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), Whump, yes that deserves its own tag shut up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25360099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: After Merlin passes out in front of them, Arthur and the knights rush him back to Gaius, worried. As it turns out, none of them have been very good about talking recently (there's a surprise), but they're working on it.Merlin's starting to learn that he's allowed more food than he thinks.
Relationships: Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [116]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 53
Kudos: 1550
Collections: Emrys is a mess, Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms





	All Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Literally so many people want more of Finish Your Plate so here y’all fuckin’ go
> 
> thanks you guys it means a lot :)

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)

Prompt: May I request a sequel? Where they are all trying to take care of Merlin but he is confused and just not used to eating? - BlackSky83

Please. Seconding a request for a sequel! - hayleyreads

Awwwww poor little Merlin. Can we please get a squeal of the knights and gaius taking care of him? - Jewels9887

Really would love to see a continuation of this! It's written so well, and it would be cool to see how everyone gains more understanding about my food vs your food and how they get him back to full health! - Midnight_Lupus

I would love to see this continued with merlin's recovery. - ameliamydarling

* * *

Arthur grins triumphantly as the rest of the knights huff. He tightens his grip on Merlin, pulling him protectively into his arms. Merlin just looks up at him, bemused, until Arthur gives his hair a ruffle.

“Er, not that I’m particularly complaining,” Merlin says slowly, “but, er, I’m still a bit confused. Leon—Leon, what were you saying?”

Leon takes a deep breath, looking once at Arthur before refocusing on Merlin. “You need to eat more than you have been,” he says carefully, “especially given what you do for a living.”

“But I’m fine.”

“You just passed out walking back from the stream,” Lancelot reminds softly, “you’re not fine.”

“And you weight less than a child,” Percival says.

“And you’ve been fainting from standing up too quickly,” says Gwaine.

Merlin frowns. “Isn’t that normal?”

“No,” Leon says, even as the rest of the knights look like they’re about to be sick, “no, Merlin, it’s not normal. It’s because you’re not getting enough to eat.”

Merlin looks up at Arthur. Arthur stares back, hoping to convey the seriousness of the situation through eye contact alone. At the very least, Merlin blinks a few times before looking back at Leon.

“But…I’ve always eaten like this. Or near it anyway.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “You expect me to believe you survived in Ealdor with only a few pastries and pieces of fruit each day?”

“I mean it wasn’t _pastries and fruit,_ ” Merlin argues, “it was stews and such but it was about the same amount.”

“Well, stews and such,” Elyan says, “have more nutritional value than a pastry or a piece of fruit. They…give you more energy and more of what you need.”

“O-oh.” Merlin blinks another few times. “I…I guess that makes sense, but…why should that matter?”

Arthur shoots an annoyed glare at Gwaine when the knight can’t keep his temper under wraps.

“I’m going to check the perimeter,” Gwaine snarls, snatching up his sword and stalking off. Percival follows with an apologetic look. Merlin watches them go.

“What’s…what’s wrong?”

“He’s worried,” Lancelot says softly, “as are we.”

“Why, because he thinks I’m not eating enough?”

“You _aren’t_ eating enough,” Elyan corrects, “and yeah, he’s worried.”

“But he doesn’t have to be,” Merlin argues, only for Arthur to hold up a hand.

“Let me stop you _right_ there,” he just about growls, softening his tone when he feels Merlin tense in his arms.

“We may not _have_ to care,” Leon says, “but we do. Because you are important to us.”

Leon glances around and receives nods of affirmation from everyone. Merlin just stares at them.

“Tell you what,” Elyan says, “when we get back to Camelot tomorrow—“

“But I thought we were supposed to be gone for two more days?”

“When we get back tomorrow,” Elyan finishes, with a laugh in his voice, “we’ll take you to Gaius and you can ask _him,_ how does that sound?”

Merlin shrugs. “Alright. I guess.”

“Now,” Elyan says, sitting down on his bedroll and making a show of making himself comfortable, “it’s time to sleep.”

Arthur just holds Merlin close as the other knights start bustling around again. Lancelot vanishes with the dirty dishes, Leon lays out a blanket, and Gwaine and Percival remerge from the trees. Gwaine throws down his sword and stalks over to Merlin, laying a hand protectively on his shoulder.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” the knight warns, “you hear me?”

Merlin just nods. Gwaine glances at Arthur. Arthur gave him a reassuring nod.

As Gwaine stood up, Arthur bent his head to mutter in Merlin’s ear.

“Gwaine’s not the only one you scared today,” he murmurs, only for Merlin to hear, “promise me you’ll listen to Gaius?”

“I-I will, but Arthur,” Merlin protests, “I don’t know what I did _wrong._ ”

“You haven’t done anything _wrong,_ Merlin, not really,” Arthur soothes, “in all fairness to _you,_ I think _we’ve_ done something wrong too. We’ve all made mistakes.”

“But—you’re all so angry—“

“We’re not angry, Merlin.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, we’re a _little_ angry,” Arthur amends, “but we’re more worried than anything.”

“But _why_?” Merlin pulls away a little more and Arthur’s heart clenches. “You-you've never cared _before._ ”

Merlin’s mouth snaps shut. He covers his mouth with his hand as his eyes go wide.

  
Arthur reaches up and carefully tugs his hand away.

  
“Merlin,” he says in the same tone of voice he uses to soothe his horse when she becomes skittish, “of course we care. You think I’d let just anybody come with me on patrol all the time?”

Merlin flushes guiltily.

“Now, what’s that look for?”

“I’ve…I’ve been a nuisance, haven’t I?”

“Since the moment you arrived,” Arthur says, the warmth behind his words softening the blow, “but that’s never stopped you before.”

Merlin still looks unsure.

“Merlin, you’re not a nuisance because of this—“ Arthur gestures around at the current situation they’re all in— “you’re a nuisance all on your own.”

Merlin snorts. Arthur smiles.

“You’re…you’re not angry?”

“No, I’m furious,” Arthur says, “at everyone who let it get this bad.”

“Does…does that include me?”

“Only partly. But it includes everyone else in this camp too.”

“Oi, Princess, _you’re_ the one who’s around him the most!”

“And you’re the ones who insist _you_ can take care of him better.”

“We can, you should give him to us.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged.”

Merlin giggles, the knights’ banter evidently working. Unfortunately for them, they all break character the second they see him laughing. Arthur would chortle at the way a simple laugh makes the most hardened warriors in Camelot _melt,_ but he is the one sitting with his arms wrapped around the source of said laugh and, if we’re all being honest here, he melted too.

“Come on,” he encourages softly, “let’s get you ready to sleep.”

“My bedroll’s over there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur huffs, “you’re staying here.”

“But I—“

“If you stand up right now, you’re likely to fall over again, yes or no?”

Merlin glances at the ground. “Not if I do it slow enough,” comes the mumble.

Arthur rolls his eyes fondly. “Merlin, do you _honestly_ want to move?”

Merlin takes a moment, looking across the camp to his bedroll, before twisting his fingers hesitantly into the sleeve of Arthur’s mail.

“That’s what I thought.” Arthur pulls away just enough to start getting his armor off to the point where he can sleep, shushing Merlin when the man makes a noise of protest. “I’m not going anywhere, you petticoat, I’m right here.”

“Good,” Merlin sniffs, even as the tremble in his lower lip betrays his worry, “that would be incredibly rude of you.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” Arthur wraps his arms back around Merlin the moment he’s able to, silently lamenting how _small_ Merlin is. “Guess I’d finally be learning something from you.”

“Oh please, you’re already an _expert_ in being rude.”

“Well, you’d know.”

“Will you two stop flirting and go to sleep?”

Arthur’s face burns even as he turns to shout that _Gwaine is one to talk._ The camp quickly turns back into playful teasing of Gwaine, that he responds to very gracefully, leaving Arthur and Merlin to huddle down in the bedroll. Arthur looks down to see Merlin’s lashes already falling closed.

They _will_ get to Gaius, he decides firmly, and they will fix everything.

Gaius is, understandably, distraught. When the knights explain what happened, Merlin doesn’t even have time to protest before Gaius is ordering him onto the observation table and throwing the knights out of the room. They all agree, each giving Merlin a gentle pat on the shoulder or ruffling his hair.

The second the door closes behind him, Arthur’s off, marching down the corridor, his boots thumping loudly. He rounds the corner to the kitchens and scans it, eye narrowed in concentration.

There she is.

“Malwen.”

The servant makes her way over to him, bowing low. He nods gratefully to her and takes her by the elbow, guiding her to a place off the main hustle and bustle of the kitchens.

“I understand you’ve been giving Merlin food,” he starts.

Malwen nods. “I understand that it is perhaps not _proper,”_ she says, “but you must understand, Sire, he doesn’t eat—“

“I know,” Arthur says softly, taking a step closer, “which is why I need you to tell me _everything._ ”

* * *

Merlin is _so_ confused.

Gaius is frowning like someone’s just come and told him Arthur’s died, touching Merlin’s body like he’s scared it’ll fracture under his fingers. He hasn’t asked Merlin anything, hasn’t told him what he’s done wrong, he just looks so worried and Merlin doesn’t understand.

Eventually, Gaius heaves a great sigh and steps backward, all but collapsing onto a stool. Merlin’s throat clenches as he watches Gaius bow his head low, almost like he’s mourning.

“…Gaius?”

Gaius raises his head, looking at Merlin with such an expression of sadness that it takes Merlin’s breath away.

“The knights tell me,” he begins and his voice is so thick with grief that it _hurts,_ “that you haven’t been eating properly.”

Merlin fidgets uncomfortably on the table. “…guess not.”

“Well, looking at you,” Gaius says, “I can see why they were worried.”

“But I don’t understand,” Merlin says, “I’ve just…I’ve been eating _my_ food, I don’t get what’s the big deal!”

Gaius stands abruptly, going behind one of the tables and producing a plate of food. Merlin’s mouth waters involuntarily; there’s an entire leg of chicken, a tomato, sausages…a _feast._

Gaius watches him, eyebrow raised. Then he sets the plate on a stool in front of Merlin.

“I want you to show me,” he says, “how much of _this_ is equivalent to what you would normally eat for a meal in Ealdor.”

Merlin frowns. “This…I wouldn’t have anything like this.”

“Then approximate.”

“But I don’t—“ Elyan’s words come back to him and he explains that he doesn’t really know what would be equivalent.

“One bowl of stew is about equal to a few of the sausages or one drumstick,” Gaius explains, “depending on what was in it.”

Merlin looks at the plate, then nervously points to _just_ the drumstick. Gaius’ face is inscrutable.

“And how often did you eat meals in Ealdor?”

Merlin frowns. “Just one, why?”

Gaius takes a deep breath and gestures to the plate. “Because you are _supposed_ to eat three meals a day.”

Merlin’s eyes bug out of his head, he’s sure of it. “ _Three?”_

Gaius nods. “Of this size, Merlin.”

He’s sure you can hear the crack as his jaw drops open. “But—but that’s—how can— _what?_ ”

Gaius takes the plate back over to where it was stored and comes to stand in front of Merlin. He waits for Merlin to look back at him and carefully explains the eating habits of a typically healthy person, including how much food, how regularly, and what types. Merlin listens, he does, but he doesn’t understand.

“Because you’re from a small village where you largely had to _grow_ all of your food,” Gaius says patiently, “as opposed to living in a city where lots of food is plentiful.”

“But it’s not _mine,_ ” Merlin protests, “how can I have the right to eat it?”

Gaius glances about, looking for one of his bags. He takes it and holds it carefully. “I prepare potions and poultices, yes?”

“...yes?”

“And then I give them to people who need it, yes?”

“But they _pay_ for those and they need them.”

“Are you implying that you don’t need food?”

“But I don’t pay for it!”

“Not with coin, perhaps,” Gaius says, setting his bag aside, “but with your work, you do. The servants get meals from the kitchens, do they not?”

“But I’m always busy.”

“That doesn't mean you don’t get food, Merlin.”

“But—“

“Why don’t you listen to me for a few moments,” Gaius interrupts, raising an eyebrow. Merlin’s mouth snaps shut. “Thank you. You are entitled to three meals courtesy of Camelot’s kitchens because of your position as Arthur’s servant.”

“You are _also,_ ” he continues, raising his voice when Merlin opens his mouth to protest, “entitled to food from _me._ ”

“But that’s _yours!_ ”

Gaius quickly raises his hands to Merlin’s shoulders when Merlin buries his face in his hands. He’s—they’re being very kind, honestly, they are, and he’d be lying if the thought of more food didn’t make his heart race, but he’s _not_ going to take their food from him. He’s not. And they aren’t understanding that.

“Then why don’t you explain it?”

Merlin raises his face slowly. “W-what?”

Gaius gestures to him. “If we don’t understand it, tell me. What am I not understanding?”

Brushing aside the fact that apparently he just spoke out loud without realizing, Merlin takes a deep breath, willing his trembling hands to steady.

“I…it’s not that I’m not grateful for it,” he begins, voice shaking ever so slightly, “but it’s not my food. I can’t take it.”

“Why?”

“Because my mother raised me right?”

Gaius shakes his head fondly at the snap in Merlin’s voice. “No, Merlin, I don’t doubt that. I mean what makes it not your food? What makes something _your_ food?”

Merlin frowns, looking up at Gaius. “Really?”

Gaius nods.

“Well, er, _my_ food is what’s given to me. What’s put in front of me or pushed into my hands. It—it’s what it means. If—if you’re given a plate of food,” Merlin says desperately, trying to figure out why Gaius is asking this question, “that’s yours and you finish it.”

“So your food is only what’s given to you?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, relieved he’s finally understood. Only to immediately frown when Gaius retrieves an apple and hands it to him. “What…is this?”

“Your food.” Gaius closes his fingers around the apple and pushes it toward Merlin. “I’m giving it to you. So it is your food.”

Merlin hesitantly takes a bite of the apple, unable to stop the shudder that runs through him when he tastes the tangy flavor bursting on his tongue. Gaius watches him with a small smile.

“You are allowed to eat, Merlin,” he says softly, “and if we need to make sure _you_ know what your food is, then we will do it.”

“…I have been hungry,” Merlin admits, shame forcing it to a whisper.

Gaius simply rests a hand on Merlin’s knee, encouraging him to finish the apple. “I know, Merlin. And I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”

Merlin’s a little confused when Gaius insists that they have to work him up to proper meals slowly. After expressing another bout of dismay when he realizes Merlin thought the scraps of his meal were for _him,_ he explains that too much food, especially the richer food of Camelot, would overwhelm his system and make everything worse. But he has to admit that waking up every morning and sitting down with Gaius to eat a light breakfast of a roll or eggs and bacon or—when his stomach starts being able to handle more food—sausages is…quite wonderful, actually. He starts looking forward to waking up. And, honestly, he likes spending more time with Gaius.

He’s still a little confused when Malwen chases him down and drags him to lunch, sitting him next to her and fixing him with a stern look until he has enough food on his plate. She tells him she’s gotten orders directly from not just Gaius, but Arthur and the knights as well, to make sure he’s eating. He knows better than to try and argue with her.

He’s getting a little less confused when the knights start making sure his bowl gets filled first when he goes on patrol. Apparently, in Camelot, whoever makes the food gets first servings outside of the castle. Merlin’s not complaining, now he can argue back when Arthur says his stew is too salty. They don’t play pranks on him anymore when it comes to food, each of them watching him carefully to make sure he actually _finishes_ the bowl, clapping him on the back and giving him reassurance when he hesitates. He’s still so used to thinking of this as _their_ food.

Speaking of which…

The first day Arthur orders a bigger breakfast, Merlin winces. He still isn’t super steady on his feet yet—Gaius says it’s coming—and that big tray will make opening the door even harder. But when he sets it down and makes to go get on with his chores, Arthur tugs him into the seat next to him.

“Eat,” he instructs, handing Merlin a goblet of pear juice.

Merlin just blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You expect me to finish all of this by myself?” But there’s a hint of something else in Arthur’s expression. And when Merlin still looks unsure a few seconds later, Arthur reaches out to cover his wrist with his hand.

“Gaius said it’s alright for you to start eating bigger meals,” he explains softly, “and I figured that having you eat with me would be easier.”

“…isn’t this yours?” Merlin tries weakly.

Arthur shrugs. “If it is, then I get to decide where it goes, right?”

Merlin nods. 

“Then I’m deciding that some of it—as much as _you_ want—is going to you.” Arthur finishes with a soft smile, “it’s alright, Merlin, it can be _our_ food.”

Looking back at the platter heaped with food, Merlin hesitates, Then he slowly reaches for an apple. Arthur watches him, a proud smile on his face.

“Can…can you pass the sausages?”

“Right here.”

It takes them a while to figure out that their roles are awkwardly reversed this morning; Arthur passive, serving Merlin food as he requests it, keeping an eye so that he doesn’t overwhelm his system, and Merlin simply eating, asking for more when he wants it. And by the time they do, neither of them really care.

For the first time that morning, Merlin smiles properly when he finishes his meal. Arthur just watches.

“You look happy,” he says quietly.

“I…I think I _am_ happy,” Merlin says, looking at him. “Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur reaches out and tugs Merlin close around his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t need to. Merlin knows.

He eats breakfast with Arthur, lunch with Malwen and the others, dinner with Gaius. He makes sure to ask if he wants more and tries to remember that it’s okay, he’s allowed this food, everything is okay. And when he falters or stumbles, his friends—his _family_ —are there to catch him, reassure him, pass him something else.

Then his birthday comes around and he walks into Arthur’s chambers to see Gaius, the knights, and Arthur all standing around a platter. Merlin frowns, setting down his laundry basket.

“Did I miss something?”

“It’s your birthday,” Gwaine says, “isn’t it?”

Merlin nods hesitantly. Gwaine makes eye contact with Elyan and Elyan leans forward, lifting off the cover from the platter. Merlin’s hands fly to his mouth.

It’s a cake.

A small cake, mind you, compared to the monstrosities he’s seen served to Uther and Arthur, and much, _much_ simpler, but it’s a cake. Lancelot pushes it towards him, proud smiles on all their faces.

“It’s yours,” he says, “all yours.”

Merlin’s throat closes as he walks forward, not wanting to believe it. He…he’s never had a cake before. And certainly not one like this.

“Th-thank you,” he stammers, “thank you.”

“You’ve done so well,” Percival says, clapping him on the shoulder, “you’ve earned it.”

“And it’s…mine?”

“All yours,” Leon confirms, “straight from the cook.”

Merlin looks up. All of them look so expectant, so… _kind._

He knows what to do.

“And what…what if I want to share it?”

Surprise passes along their faces until Arthur just shakes his head.

“You just won’t stop being adorable, will you?”

“Nope,” Gwaine booms, ruffling Merlin’s hair, “but he gets the biggest piece.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Obviously.”

“No complaints here.”

“Wait, where’s the knife?”

“Here.”

“Merlin?” Gaius guides him to the front of the cake. “After you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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